Land Girls, The Promise

by Roland Moore

  “I hope it goes well for you, like,” Finch offered.

  “I hope you don’t get hurt,” Iris replied, having decided that it was her last chance to warn him about Evelyn. Finch frowned. He opened his mouth, no doubt to give Iris a piece of his mind, when the door opened and a Land Girl stood looking with curiosity at them both. A sallow-cheeked woman, perhaps thirty years old, with large brown eyes and mousy hair flattened against her head with clips, she made no attempt to smile or welcome them in. Instead she looked past the visitors to the car that had brought them here.

  “Hello, I’m Fred. This is Iris, your new girl,” Finch said. “Do you like the car?”

  “Sorry?” the woman said, seemingly lost in a world of her own.

  Suddenly a tall man wearing a long brown overall coat bustled the woman out of the way and opened the door wide to allow Finch and Iris inside. “I’m Horace, the warden,” he said. He was about fifty and as skinny as a rake. A ring of long white hair traversed the perimeter of his skull from ear to ear, but apart from that, he was totally bald. He moved his head back slightly, as if adjusting the focus of his eyes, so he could take in Iris. He looked her up and down as if appraising a horse.

  “Looks a strong one,” Horace said. “Is she a good worker?”

  “Yes, she’s good,” Finch replied, feeling nearly as uneasy as Iris did. Why didn’t he address Iris directly? Should he say something?

  “Well, leave her with me,” Horace held out his hand to shake Finch’s, all the while keeping his eyes on Iris. She smiled awkwardly. “When I get the transfer paperwork from your warden -”

  “Esther.”

  “Esther, that’s it. When I get the paperwork, I’ll file it with the ministry.” And then Horace turned to Iris and smiled a toothy grin. She wasn’t sure if Horace had more teeth than a normal person or just that it looked that way on account of them being like large yellow tombstones, ridiculously confined in his thin face. “Welcome to Jordan Gate.”

  Finch nodded his goodbye to Iris and with a palpable air of relief left the farmhouse. Iris offered a friendly smile at the sallow-faced Land Girl, but all she got back was a blank stare. Horace produced a small leather pocket book and feverishly flicked through the pages, squinting at the text. The room was furnished with a long wooden table with benches either side. There was a butler’s sink on one wall and a Welsh dresser with a lurid collection of blue utility plates and bowls. It lacked the comfortable touches of Pasture Farm. The crockery was all utilitarian and that was the feel of the whole place, a functional place designed for work.

  Horace motioned for the sallow-faced Land Girl to join him. “Go and get Clarence. He’ll want to welcome this one.”

  The girl obediently went off through a door that led to the rest of the house.

  “She’s Vanessa, she’ll show you the ropes here.”

  “Thanks,” Iris said, her feeling of disquiet growing. “Shall I put my suitcase upstairs?”

  “You won’t be sleeping in the house. I’ve got a room and Clarence has got a room, but there isn’t space for you lot.” He motioned to the barn outside the kitchen window. “That’s where you all sleep. There’s four of you out there, and it’s pretty warm most of the time.”

  “It’s a barn,” Iris heard herself voicing her thoughts aloud.

  “Just be grateful you lot have a roof over your head.”

  Iris saw red. “Us lot? We’re doing you farmers a favour. Without us, you wouldn’t be able to cope.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.” A resonant, rich, upper-class voice stated softly. Iris whirled around to find herself facing an imposing figure, dressed in riding britches, a red waistcoat and a checked white shirt. His hair was jet black and combed meticulously back in glistening parallel tracks. “I’m Clarence Trubb, the owner of this farm.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Iris said, apprehensively. Clarence almost snorted in derision. She had heard stories about farmers who were less than friendly to Land Girls. She guessed she might have been lucky with Finch. Obviously not all farmers were as welcoming and tolerant to female workers as he was. So Clarence Trubb and his warden, Horace, seemed to fit the rumours she’d heard of farmers who didn’t appreciate the girls that were sent to them.

  “You’ve got a bit of fire, haven’t you?” Clarence said, appraising Iris. She stood her ground, staring straight back at him. “And not just in the colour of your hair.” He moved his hand towards her hair and allowed the tips of her ringlets to cascade over his knuckles, seeming to enjoy the sensation. Feeling queasy from the contact, Iris pulled away and brushed her hair back with her hands, out of his reach.

  “If I was you, Iris Dawson, I’d get an early night,” Clarence said. “Tomorrow we’ll see if you’re cut out for life at Jordan Gate.” He threw an amused look to Horace, who looked equally amused at whatever private joke they were enjoying. Iris decided to let it wash over her. Stuff their games.

  Vanessa, the sallow-faced girl, entered the room. Finally she spoke to Iris, but it wasn’t a message tinged with any warmth or hints of friendship, rather an instruction. “I’ve run you a bath.”

  Iris thanked her, picked up her case and went upstairs, Vanessa following. Clarence and Horace watched her go. Iris went in the direction of the sound of running water and finally reached a bathroom, where the tub was glistening with a generous three inches of water at the bottom.

  She put her case next to the bath and started to unbutton her coat. Vanessa went to the bath and turned off the taps. Iris managed to reach the edge of the door with her elbow and pushed it shut. Now they were alone, she wondered if Vanessa might be a bit more approachable, a bit more forthcoming. She remembered that strange woman that Connie Carter had brought back to Pasture Farm, Glory Wayland. It took a while before Glory had felt comfortable enough to communicate with the rest of them. Perhaps Vanessa was shy or reserved like Glory had been.

  “What’s it like here?” Iris asked, expecting perhaps a playful rolling of eyes and a dismissive comment. Nothing prepared her for the reality.

  Vanessa glanced nervously at the door, her large brown eyes full of terror, and then whispered, fearfully, “It’s horrible. It’s hell.” She checked again for the sound of anyone on the stairs and when she felt confident that they weren’t being spied on added, “When you have a bath, wedge a towel over the sink. There’s a gap in the wood by the mirror and Clarence watches.”

  “Watches? What?”

  But Vanessa scurried out of the room. And with that deeply unsettling comment hanging in the air, Iris went to lock the door behind her, but realised there was no lock. Of course. What could she do to get some privacy? Suddenly she had an idea. She took one of the towels from the storage table, unfolded it and did her best to wedge it over the mirror so that it covered the crack in the wood. Then, with her back to that part of the room, she hurriedly pulled off her jumper and blouse. After discarding her trousers and socks, she stepped into the bath. It was lukewarm. Iris leaned back, partly to obscure her body from view in case she hadn’t managed to fully block the gap, and partly to try to relax. She looked idly up, where small star-shaped cracks seemed to cover the ceiling. But as she peered more closely, she realised that it was dozens of daddy long legs, their spiny black legs looking like hairline fissures in the plaster, sprawled across the ceiling.

  Iris decided that she would keep her head down and make the best of this awful place. She might only have six months here and she would be ticking off each and every day. And then maybe, just maybe, she could go back to her old life at Pasture Farm.

  Chapter 12

  It had been one of those nights when Iris had been certain that she hadn’t had a wink of sleep. And yet the hours had somehow passed more quickly than if she had really been awake the whole time. But whether she had snatched any sleep or not didn’t matter, the outcome was that she felt threadbare and shattered. The barn was cold and draughty, and the continual padding of the black dog around the perimeter meant that it was o
ne of the most uncomfortable places Iris had ever been in. It made Frank’s shed seem like the Ritz. The beds in the barn were makeshift camp beds, with the four Land Girls grouped at one end, and the other end of the barn was full of straw. As Iris tried to go to sleep, even if the dog wasn’t walking around, she would hear the rustle of some unseen creatures in the hay, gnawing or moving. And above her head, there was a gap in one of the roof joists, so she could see the night sky. Luckily it had been a warm night, but Iris dreaded to think what would happen on a cold one or if it was raining. A pile of folded blankets on a table near the bathroom gave her the answer. Last night, Vanessa Collins had been asleep - or pretending to be asleep - by the time Iris had finished her bath and trotted warily over to the barn. The other two girls were just as taciturn to Iris. She decided that all three of them shared the same haunted look, as if they all felt they were in hell. Iris pulled her old rag doll from a pocket inside her suitcase and squeezed it tightly. It had helped her through some awful times and she hoped that it would make her feel better now. The threadbare face, with its single eye, stared at her. Iris collected herself and dredged up some courage to face the day. It was a new place, a new environment. It wasn’t as homely as Pasture Farm, but she would survive it, albeit by counting down the days until she could leave. Yes, she would survive it.

  She sighed and placed the rag doll back in the pocket of the case.

  When they were dressed for work, Iris followed Vanessa and the other two girls over to the farmhouse. Horace was reading a book at the table, sitting near four bowls of rapidly cooling porridge. The other girls ate the gloop hungrily and in silence. Iris felt that she had better follow suit. When they had finished, each girl picked up her bowl and spoon and washed it in the butler’s sink, before drying it and putting it back in the Welsh dresser. Again Iris followed suit. Horace feigned disinterest, but she caught him casting a crafty eye over the thoroughness of their washing and drying. With all the plates and spoons put away, the girls went outside and put their boots on. Iris noticed that a pair of bicycle clips stood by each pair of boots - including her own.

  “What are these for?” she asked.

  “Just put them on,” Vanessa said, walking off.

  Iris was about to query whether they were going to ride bicycles, when a familiar voice called her name.

  “Iris?” She turned to see Clarence Trubb. He was sporting a different-coloured waistcoat today, but the same riding britches. In the cold light of day, she realised he was quite an attractive man, in a saturnine kind of way. Physically he was dark and rugged, with piercing eyes. It was just a shame that any attractiveness was undone by the sour personality and creepiness inside. “You’re not going to work with the others. Not yet,” he growled.

  “What do you want me to do, then?”

  “I said last night that we need to check you are suited for life here.” He eyed her up and down. Iris felt a desperate need to fold her arms tightly across her breasts to obscure her body, but part of her didn’t want to give him the satisfaction in knowing she was unnerved. “In that silo, is a bag of corn.” He pointed to the silo behind her. “And a bag of wheat. All you have to do is bring me the corn.”

  Iris mulled over this challenge for a moment. She glanced at the silo. It seemed simple enough. What was the catch?

  “Will I be able to lift it on my own?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s not heavy.”

  “Right,” Iris said, taking this in. “You just want me to get the corn?”

  “That’s it. Just bring me the bag of corn.”

  “So you want to check I can recognise corn?”

  “Just get it.”

  Iris stepped inside the gloomy silo, her eyes squinting to make out anything in the dark. It was a large and circular space, with a pointed roof that was nearly three storeys high. It could house a lot of bags of grain. But at this moment, she could just about make out the shape of two small hessian sacks that sat in the centre of the cavernous space. Iris guessed that these silos usually had clear ceilings so you could see inside, but this one had some sort of dark covering over the pointed roof, making the gloom quite impenetrable. She moved across the room, her footfalls echoing around the chamber, her hands outstretched to guide her. All she had was the light from the opened door to make out what was inside, and that didn’t penetrate much of the darkness. It was about to get worse. She heard a loud clunking noise and turned to see that the door had been slammed shut. The silo was suddenly pitch black. She stopped in her tracks.

  “Hello?” Iris called. There was no answer. “Is this part of the test? Doing it in the dark?”

  There was no answer.

  She turned back to the bags of grain and walked nearer to them, hands outstretched. So this was the test, identifying corn in the dark and not getting spooked by Clarence’s sick games. She would show him! She was confident that she could work out which grain was which from touch. Iris fumbled for the sacks, kneeling down on the cold stone floor. The edge of one of the sacks brushed her knee. She found the opening and put her fingers inside. From the texture, it felt like wheat. She moved her hand away and went to find the opening of the second bag. That must contain the corn. The edge of the bag somehow managed to touch her knee again. That was odd. She soldiered on and pushed her hands into the open bag, but her fingers didn’t find corn. Instantly, she recoiled as she found something warm and furry. And moving. But it wasn’t just one thing, it was dozens, the whole sack was full of squirming, warm, hairy bodies thrashing around, each animal possessing a scaly, segmented tail. They were rats! As she instinctively pulled back in revulsion, Iris lost her balance. They were spilling over the floor, squawking and chirruping as they poured over her knees and ankles. Iris snapped her hand back from the sack, but only succeeded in upending it, causing more rats to pour out. Desperately she tried to stand, but found herself pressing on furry bodies to find purchase, the rats squealing beneath her. Finally she rose to her feet, aware that her jumper was pulling at her, with the unnatural adornment of two huge rats hanging from the front. She batted them off and ran towards the door, the squawking of excited vermin filling the cavernous space. But she couldn’t find the door as the walls of the silo all looked and felt the same in the dark.

  “Let me out!” Iris shouted. “Let me out!”

  The sound of scurrying rats filled the silo. Iris banged on the wall so hard it hurt her hand.

  Finally, seven or eight feet away, the door clunked open and a sliver of light pierced the gloom. Iris ran to it, squashing some rats that had the same idea. She burst through the door, the morning sun stinging her eyes. She slammed it behind her, but not before two rats got through. They stopped to get their bearings in their new surroundings.

  Clarence Trubb was smiling at her.

  Iris frowned at him, furious, trying to control her breathing.

  “The test isn’t over,” he said. He handed Iris a thin steel machete. “You’ve got to show me you can kill ‘em.”

  Iris held the knife in her hands. At that moment, she would have liked to have used it on Clarence Trubb. She looked at the huge brown rats on the ground, starting to explore the outside world. Could she do this?

  “Big part of your job here is going to be vermin control,” Clarence said. Iris knew that some Land Girls had been formed into dedicated anti-vermin squads. And she’d seen various posters imploring people to ‘Kill the rat - it’s doing Hitler’s work’. Finch had told her that there were over fifty million of the blighters in England and Wales. He thought they would seriously harm the crops if they weren’t kept in check The War Office obviously shared that view, so as well as the anti-vermin squads, volunteers were encouraged to catch rats, with children given a penny for each rat tail they could bring to the farmers.

  “You’ll be using poison, mostly, but I need to know you can do this. Need to know you aren’t squeamish.”

  Iris looked at the rat before her. It was a big one, brown-furred with a long, cartilaginous pink
tail. She felt the weight of the knife in her hands, the blade was criss-crossed and shiny at the sharpest edge where it had been repeatedly sharpened over the years. She wondered how many rats it had killed. Clarence watched her as she got closer to the rat. She raised the machete back and brought it down hard. But Iris didn’t kill the rat. Instead, she embedded the blade into the soil inches from its body. The rat, feeling the force of the blade in the earth, scurried away, hiding under the nearest tractor.

  Clarence scowled at Iris. He retrieved his machete, wiping the soil off on his britches. Then he inspected the blade to check it hadn’t been damaged.

  “Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” Iris said, defiantly. “Maybe you’d better send me back to Pasture Farm.”

  The truth was that she wasn’t particularly squeamish. In fact, she had helped Frank set traps for predators like foxes at Pasture Farm. But in this situation, not killing the rat made a statement. It said that Iris wasn’t going to play Clarence’s twisted games. She wasn’t going to be subjected to his controlling nature. She wasn’t going to become a broken spirit like those other dead-eyed girls.

  “You’ll learn,” Clarence sneered. He pocketed the knife and walked away. With no instruction, Iris headed off in the direction that she assumed the other girls had taken. She had been at Jordan Gate for barely twelve hours and, like the rats in the silo, she already wanted to escape.

  Mist had collected in the valley and Iris could barely make out the stone farmhouse in the distance.

  “We need this barn for storage,” Vanessa Collins announced, showing Iris and the other Land Girls a barn in the forest on the next farm along from Jordan Gate. The holes in the ancient dark-green planking had been haphazardly repaired with newer wooden panels, giving the barn a patchwork appearance. Vanessa insisted that it was pretty much watertight, thanks to their efforts over the last couple of weeks in mending the carpentry. The problem was the rats. The whole underside of the barn was infested with rats’ nests and despite laying bait for the last two weeks, the problem persisted. Vanessa explained that they had to get rid of the rats before the crops were brought in for storage, otherwise the harvest would be ruined. By this stage of her first day, Iris had barely exchanged a dozen words with the girls; all of them lost in their own worlds of isolation and loneliness. It seemed that none of them wanted to be here. It also seemed that Iris had found herself, without any consultation, in an anti-vermin squad. Iris was relieved that she didn’t have to do any digging, but she feared that rat-catching would prove to be an even worse occupation. Vanessa went over the basics of what they would be doing. They would block all the visible holes in the underside of the barn with old fertiliser sacks, shovelling soil on top to ensure a good seal. Then Iris would use the foot pump to pump deadly gas into the one remaining hole. Vanessa told Iris to wear a wet scarf tightly wound around her mouth and nose to stop her breathing in the gas. She warned that as Iris started pumping, the rats would try to escape. They would flee from the underside of the barn and it was up to all the other girls to stop them. Iris noticed that the girls were going to a nearby wagon and fetching two-pronged pitchforks. This was going to be a gruesome and unpleasant massacre.